


Porchlight

by Fire_Sign



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, flashfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-13
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2020-01-12 21:17:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18454799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign
Summary: Margaret waits up. (Flashfic challenge)





	Porchlight

**Author's Note:**

> I did it, I did it, I wrote fic to someone else's title. A feat everyone else seemed to manage on their first go.

Margaret set her embroidery aside, sighing heavily. For all her experience, these evenings never seemed to get easier; since Phryne had come home from Australia it managed to be harder than ever. Waiting up for her return, never quite convinced that her older daughter wouldn’t disappear into the London fog. She had before, once, a letter arriving the next day informing her parents that she’d joined an ambulance unit and was already on her route to France. And so she sat up night after night, waiting for the sound of the key in the door.

There had been a seeming routine since her return, at least--she would leave in the early evening, for dinner or dancing or the theatre, and would come home, alone, by midnight. But she’d left earlier than usual tonight, humming as she’d swept from the townhouse and dressed to kill. And the clock on the mantel said it was well past midnight. Margaret was about to switch to knitting when she heard laughter; she drifted to the parlour window, catching the shape of two figures in the porchlight.

She meant to withdraw, but Phryne threw her head back and laughed and Margaret was struck by the sight. Phryne was vibrant and sociable, always, but there was something in her pose that was… baring. She froze where she stood, watching her daughter and this stranger--the laughter, the touches, the silly little dance as they climbed the stairs. The lingering kiss goodnight, the tilt of Phryne’s head and tug at his lapel as she no doubt encouraged the man to join her inside. Heaven knew she’d done that often enough over the years, sneaking them back out in the early hours.

The man seemed to decline, kissing her then  bowing with an absurd flourish that set Phryne to laughing once more. Their hands lingered as they pulled apart, and Phryne watched him walk back into the London night--he paused at the gate, darting back quickly to kiss her a final time before leaving. A moment later the ket could be heard in the lock, and Margaret quickly withdrew from the window lest she get caught.

“Phryne?” she called. “Is that you?”

“It is,” she said, giving her hair a shake as she came into the parlour.

“Who was at the door?” Margaret asked, curious about the man. It did not take a lady detective to draw conclusions from _that_.

“Just a friend, from Australia,” Phryne said with a vague shrug. “He happened to be in England and we went for dinner.”

“Ahh,” Margaret replied. “You could have invited him here. I’d love to know how Melbourne has changed since I left. Another night, perhaps.”

Phryne grimaced.

“He’s very busy, I’m afraid. I doubt he’ll be free another night.”

“How unfortunate,” Margaret said, then gave her daughter a knowing smile and gestured towards her mouth, where her lipstick was smeared and worn away. “At least he’ll have something to remember you by.”

Phryne rolled her eyes.

“I’ll be out again tomorrow,” she said, a smile she didn’t seem to notice tugging at her lips. “You really won’t need to wait up.”   

No, thought Margaret, she really wouldn’t. But that scarf wouldn't finish knitting itself. 


End file.
